The Distance Between Absolutes
by LovelyLivy
Summary: Kiss somebody in the rain. Tell them you love them just because. Never say never to something you wish you had the strength to do. Forgive even if you wish didn't have to. Regret nothing. Long OneShot that deals with changing lives. TIVA. MCABBY. JIBBS.


**Holy crap. Holy crap. Hooolly craaap. This is the longest oneshot you have EVER seen. FYI: I am in seventh grade and started this at Five PM. It is MIDNIGHT! Crazy! This writing thing is so addicting! Anyway I hope you like this...tired and it's not beta'd so all mistakes are my own. Got the idea from the movies 'New York, I Love You' and 'A Walk to Remember', I don't own that or NCIS. I ask you to please review, even if it isn't the greatest. I am totally open to criticism, as long as you do it in a respectful manner. Anyway, goodnight! Sooo tired! Oh and I do have some of my personal opinions of my own in this so...feel free to share your own wisdom? lol. Thanks!**

**Livy**

**(Oh and P.S. this is a little graphic for those of you who don't like to read anything that alludes to molestation or graphic murder or death, (I, myself, am a survivor of molestation, but I'm not offended, obviously, sooo..) Anyway, happy reading!)**

**Was listening to the songs; Boats and Birds by Gregory and the Hawk, Trust Me by The Fray, Misguided Ghosts by Paramore, and Never Know by Jack Johnson. If I were you I would listen to any one of those songs either before, while, or after, reading this. Beautiful lyrics that I feel match this perfectly. **

**THIS IS TIVA, MCABBY, JIBBS, and _Tony/Jeanne._**

* * *

Life is an A to B kind of thing. Like a map, the place of departure and destination are cut out cleanly, crisp in their finality. Some call it simple, those who thoroughly believe we have no true purpose but to be 'food' for aliens or believe that there is no heaven. And then there are those who see the true beauty.

The distance between the two solemn absolutes. The truth is, our lives are interwoven in the most intricate of quilts. Each of us is our own shade and texture, and whether or not we mix well with other colors determines our path. Some say fate has a hand in where they're sewn, and others think it's merely an affect of actions. Believe what you wish to believe.

Personally, I believe it is the promises we make. To each other. To ourselves. A promise is a tie that binds. A lifeline of the relationship, I'd like to think.

But know that each and every thread is important. Vital. Though each has its own point of strength and weakness, of softness and of coarseness, of vibrance and dullness, each cannot exist without the other. One weak string would never last long in solitude. Things may pull the threads apart or force them together. Cut them to pieces or reattach them delicately.

They are irreplaceable. Beautiful in the ways that makes them unique and unique in the way things make them beautiful. Whether you think of maps or of quilts, the fact remains the same. They were always meant to be interwoven.

* * *

"Jen, would you please stop digging through my things? I promise I'll find that damn prescription." Her father's voice was gruff, and she felt a fresh wave of worry for his health. He needed to stop smoking, the doctor had said so, and as much as she knew he loved those cigars, she knew that if he didn't stop soon she wouldn't have him much longer. That thought scared the crap out of her.

"Dad, this is serious. Why can't you just stop being stubborn for a one second? This is really affecting your health and I..-" He laid a hand on her own as she was about to open a drawer, forcing her to close it and turn around to look at him. She sighed, exasperated.

"Dad-"

"Jenny, listen to me. Nothing is going to happen to me, I promise. In fact, I'll be around so long you'll be wishing you _could_ get rid of me. Now what was that I heard earlier about this new boyfriend?"

And just like that the tense stature she'd carried since she found out her father had been sick disappatated. Her father always knew how to make her forget about the serious stuff. He made her laugh.

Jenny explained the boy's teasing antics that she'd had to deal with while she'd been away at college, and how in all honesty she was so glad she'd finally gotten away from him.

Her father hugged her tightly as he told her that she was too grown up, and that he wished he had his little girl back. And she blinked back tears as she said she'd always be his little girl.

At twenty four years old, she was really just beginning her life. College was at the forefront of her mind most of the time, determined to be a hell of a lawyer. She spent hours studying and not enough time partying, her friends often said, and she steadily ignored them. She'd see where they were in ten years, in comparison to herself.

After her mother had died her father had been depressed, she knew, and as of late with those criminal allegations being investigated about him, she knew he wasn't in the best of shape. The fiery redhead felt a pang of sadness sweep over her as she thought what his life must be like right now, and she made a promise that she would start contacting him more. They used to be so close.

The thunder crackled and ground out hateful murmurs as she lay her head down that night, green eyes drooping as she gripped her old pillow. Her father had done nothing to her room since she left for college nearly five years ago. She did not sleep well.

The next morning she awoke to the smell of Noemi and her delicious scrambled eggs and bacon. How she missed being home, in a way. Delicate bare feet padded down the stairs and through the tiled hallways. She paused at her father's study, peeking inside and grinning, giving a tired but jovial, 'Good Morning!"

"Good Morning, Sweetheart. Sleep well?" He looked tired, and sounded terse, she noted as she surveyed the old study, her father sitting at his desk and looking through some old papers, by the looks of it.

"Good. You?" She said wearily, smile fading. Her father's body language confused her. Brushing it off, she knew there was no way she would tell her father about the nightmare she'd had last night. She couldn't clearly remember it, really, she just recalled lots of bad memories. Memories she did not prefer to relive in a dream.

"Ah...good. Just a bit anxious. I've been really worried lately." She was a bit shocked he'd admitted something like that to her. She felt alarmed.

"Is there anything you wanted to talk about?" Jenny needed to ask him these things, the doctor had told her to. Stress could slow his recovery down a hell of a lot. That was it. He was just stressed out, she tried to convince herself.

"You know I love you right? And that I'm very proud of you?" He looked so forlorn and as if he might cry. The sudden outburst of emotion confused her so, and she did well to nod in response.

"I love you too dad." It was a hoarse whisper as she walked closer towards his desk, wanting to question him more but suddenly he tensed physically as if in front of a venomous Cobra. When he spoke again it sounded forced, and he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Can you go get the mail for me?" Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion at his strange request. She nodded, knowing they'd have time to talk about it later.

She stopped by the coatrack to grab a light sweater of hers from high school and closed the door behind her softly as she made her way down the long narrow path towards the mailbox. Jenny felt tense, though there was no adamant threat or reason to be.

Her stomach felt twisted in knots as she opened up the mailbox and grabbed the white envelopes it held. Something did _not _feel right. She then accidentally sliced her finger on the edge of one rather deeply, and hissed in discomfort. With one hand she held the mail and the other sucked off the blood that oozed from her thumb. She hoped her dad still had band aids.

Attempting to brush off the angst she felt, Jenny made her way back up the walkway with a show of security, standing up as straight as possible and brushing her hair back. _Nothing was wrong. _

And then it happened. Thunder boomed, and yet there was none left, the storm from the night before long past and in its place a blue sky. She heard a woman scream in terror.

Panic overtook her entire being. Mail long forgotten, Jenny sprinted into the house leaving the crisp white paper behind, only thoughts concerning her father being present. The woman, Noemi, she realized, continued to let out horrified shrieks as she flung open the door to the house, and then to the kitchen.

She wanted to be relieved when she saw the Hispanic woman physically fine, just obviously shaken by the gunshot, but Jenny couldn't be. There was only one other person in the house.

Her hands shook as she left the woman alone and ran back down the narrow hall, bare feet pounding against the floor. Her heart was in her throat, she felt like she may have a panic attack and nothing could stop her from opening the door to her father's study.

The only thing she could see was red. It covered everything. The wall. The furniture. The floor. And her father, slumped in the chair, from one side seeming asleep and the other a scene from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Jenny gagged.

Tears blurred the twenty four year olds sight and she covered her mouth and nose with one slender pale hand in horror, swaying slightly. Still in shock, she watched as a man with a sleek gun at his side barged passed her, cold brown eyes staring into hers with no remorse. That was the first time she saw the Frog.

But Jenny didn't move or try and stop the man who'd just murdered her father, much too out of it for that. As she started to become aware of some things a certain thing was most apparent. It sounded like a cat wailing, or maybe a bird. Short, hysterical, cries is all she heard and with wide eyes she realized it was her own sobs.

She looked at her father's green eyes, staring at nothing and blood filled.

Jenny started to scream.

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a man who fell in love often, though the number of ex wives he had held a strong contradiction.

But you would know, if you studied him long enough, that the wives were just replacements for the woman who he fell in love with when he was 17 years old, on a bus stop bench, discussing lumberjacks and life rules and names to go by. Yes, Shannon was the only woman he'd ever been married to and loved.

But she was not the only woman he'd ever loved in general.

Jennifer Shepard was his one and only partner. She knew and understood him in ways nobody else could. In ways nobody else, besides Shannon, and his ex-wives, who'd failed, had tried. She could make him smile and forget any bad memories he possessed. Or she could make him clench his jaw in pain as he read the words of a goodbye while sitting on a plane departing from Paris.

You would think that the two women who could trigger such reactions in Jethro would be similar.

In hair color? Yes, of course, even he himself would always admit to having a thing for redheads.

In personality? Now that was up to debate.

Where Shannon was soft and nurturing Jenny could be brazen and feisty. Not that Shannon did not have these qualities, she just showed them much less often. Jenny was ambitious. Shannon wanted a family.

But when it came down to it, they had one vital quality that separated them from all the ex-wives or ex-lovers.

The both loved Gibbs unconditionally. The undefined, permanent love that consumed each of them for the stubborn, chauvinistic man was irrevocable.

And he loved them too. It hurt to think of how much. Now that everything had changed and he was alone.

Shannon and Kelly were gone, their murderer rotting away in a grave in Mexico. At least there was some peace in that. Jenny was gone too. She left, on her own free will. The realization that came each time he thought that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

And each night when he closed his eyes he dreamt of them. Each their own person and their own memories, he could relive the scenes of his past happiness until he woke up each morning.

Regardless of all this, Jenny is who we need to talk about now. Deep red curls. Emerald eyes. Light freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was beautiful.

For a while, she was all his. The steamy affair in Europe had been the best moments of his life, and not just because he was in a foreign country with a beautiful woman, but because he had no regrets.

Just for those two years that he was undercover with Jenny she made him heal from the scars of Shannon and Kelly and begin to move on. Yet she knew nothing about them. So how did she do it? He will never know.

Maybe it was the way her hips swayed as she walked that would distract him from emotions and focus merely on everything physical. But Jethro knew that couldn't be true. Jenny was more to him than just lust or the need for human intimacy.

Maybe it was the way she could be silent. They could communicate without speaking, almost like a sixth sense just between the two of them. When something felt too personal for him, she would sense it and move to another topic.

But Gibbs did not believe in superstitious bullshit.

He thought everything was going to be okay towards the end. He thought that she would get over the Zukov incident and move in with him when they got back to D.C.

He was wrong.

The paper was white and crisp, like fresh snow, and smelt like her. Curvy script scrawled down in black ink pen that blended through the parchment. The message was short, quaint, even.

Devastatingly impersonal in comparison to their interactions just hours, days, before.

This was goodbye, and this was the exact moment he promised himself he would never fall in love again.

* * *

Ziva David. Mossed Officer. Warrior. Daughter of Eli David, sister Ari Haswari and the late Tali David.

At only nineteen most girls are planning what color they shall paint their dorm room. She was planning revenge on the men who killed her sister.

She cracked her neck as she sped through the traffic in Tel Aviv, on a mission to get to Headquarters before sunrise. It was five in the morning and tourists where still out, drunkenly oblivious to the fact a bomb had exploded not a hundred and fifty miles from where they laugh and celebrate.

Tali. Each time Ziva thought the little girls name she bit her lip harshly as fresh tears threatened to obstruct her vision. She did not want to cry. The concept of showing no weakness had been nearly beaten into her, and she knew this was not the time to defy the rules.

It had been a nice day for some shopping, her sister had said earlier in the morning to her as Ziva had just gotten back from her run. The sun was out with a slight wind. Perfect weather for visiting the marketplace.

Ziva had insisted there was no way she could allow ther father to excuse her from her daily duties, and Tali had pouted.

At sixteen the girl knew nothing of Ziva's job at Mossed and what it entailed and Ziva preferred to keep it that way. Tali's innocence was one of her greatest treasures.

"Ziva! _Please._ I have no friends, you know that! Abba never allows me to venture far from an escort and I just want to be free of a man in a suit, _for a day_!"

Ziva began to feel more frustrated. There was an escort with her for good reason. Being the daughter of Eli David meant you had enemies. Tali could not understand...would never understand.

"Tali, I said no! I am sorry. We can do it another day. I promise." The words she ground out because she knew it was a lie.

She was leaving on an assignment in less than two weeks to assist an NCIS Special Agent, Jenny Shepard, in Cairo. But she would not tell her sister that.

Her innocent little sister who slept with a binkie in her mouth until age eight.

Tali walked away dejectedly and asked her driver to take her to the nearest place she could buy a some dresses. The sisters left the house at around the same time that morning, and unbeknownst to Ziva, it would be the last time they ever saw each other again.

Her father had said they could not find any remains, the site of the bomb too destroyed to identified charred flesh that remained until the temperature cooled a bit. The mental images conjured made Ziva queasy.

Every time she closed her eyes she thought of her and Ari and Tali playing at the beaches of Tel Aviv as children.

Ari, the protective older brother who would not speak to her or her father now. He always made her feel safe, when Abba was not there to do it himself.

And Tali, dark curls tied back into two braids as she held her hand and run through the sandy fields.

Tali was dead and as she pulled the trigger and a guilty man fell dead to the floor. Ziva let a single tear slip through her tough exterior, wiping it away quickly and moving on with her life.

Years later, as the bomb explodes on the screens at MTAC and the sounds of her colleagues gasps fill her ears, she is reminded of losing Tali.

Except this time Tony DiNozzo was not a sibling. He was her partner, the love of her life. He could not simply be gone.

The concept was foreign and unwelcome in her mind, and she would not let it be true. Tony could not be dead.

She feared she could not take much more.

* * *

A little girl who cannot speak to her parents cannot tell them. She is only about six years old when it begins, a boy down the street signing to her parents that he's going to be 'tutoring' the first grader until she can learn to speak English properly.

When she tries to explain to him she can speak just fine he slaps her.

She's always lead a lonely little life. Though the house is filled with children but there is never any noise, and for the oddball in the family who actually _can _hear, it is agenizing.

She only hears the children at school who say that her braids are stupid and her clothes are ugly.

She has never heard somebody physically tell her they love her. And she believes that is ok.

The boy continues to tutor her until she is well into school, seventh grade, she recalls, is when it finally stopped. But still, nobody actually found out.

His new girlfriend, a senior in high school, wants to move in with him. Can't have a twelve year old girl who you sexually abuse in the house with a girl you wanna get laid by.

The temptation is too great, she thinks sarcastically.

As she got older she began to change, like a butterfly going through metamorphosis. This was a very dark butterfly.

When she was in eighth grade she died her golden curls black and started flat ironing it straight. When she discovered gothic style her heart leaped. Her parents would never be able to protest.

Away went the shy little girl with big blue eyes and soft blond curls. In its place was the new her; dark clothes, metal music her parents couldn't hear, pigtails, and adventurous boyfriends willing to try _anything. _

That was what life was about.

Her grades began to slip. She'd always excelled greatly in science and math but now the only way she would ever get into college was by screwing the dean. She chuckled at the thought.

Her parents did not matter to her. Nor did her stupid siblings or her old geek friends. Nobody mattered to her anymore.

And then, like a dust storm in a calm desert, everything changed once again.

She was drunk when she got in the car that night. Her best friend in the front seat, and she thanked her as she made quick work of kissing her boyfriends senseless in the back.

The air was cool and the roads were slick with recent rain. She remembers filling her lungs with alcohol infused air and tasting sweet saliva on her tongue.

She remembers the red light and she remembers the quick jerk the car made as it swerved out into the intersection. The girl can still hear their screams.

She awakes in a hospital, the NCIS Special Agent who's car they ran into in the bed next to her own.

Her parents sit in obviously uncomfortable metal chairs at the sides of her bed, her pale mother grasping her hand in her sleep. Flowers occupy every flat surface she sees.

The sound of her being up awoke her father as well, and with weary eyes he signs that they are lucky she is alive. She was the only survivor.

Later, the man in the bed next to her tells her he won't press charges as long as she never does anything like this again. She smiles and promises, something about his silver hair reminding her of a fox.

And her silver-haired fox he became.

She tells him everything except for the molestation when she was younger. It's the most she's talked...ever.

And she decides she likes to talk.

He asks her what she's doing after highschool. At her hesitance in doing _anything _he asks her to take an internship at NCIS in D.C. It shocks her, his blatant job offer.

She's always been interested in Forensics. More excited than she's ever been in her life, she gives him a big hug as he leaves, and although she sees the pang of sadness in his eyes, she also hears the chuckle that follows soon after.

And everything will soon be OK.

* * *

Geeks don't have the easiest life, as you'd like to think. Intelligence only gets you so far. And having the highest IQ in the school can make finding a girlfriend rather difficult.

But Tim McGee met the girl of his dreams when he was thirteen years old.

She had golden blonde hair that went just passed her shoulders and striking green eyes. She had full pink lips that curled upwards to expose naturally straight, white teeth. He loved her smile.

The first time he met her they were at a park.

Sarah had dragged him to the Base's swings because she was bored one smoldering Sunday afternoon in August. His little sister always had the habit of getting him into the most awkward situations.

He'd seen her when her family moved in a few houses down from him. She had her hair tied away from her faces that day, the tanned skin of her neck the most tantalizing thing the middle-schooler had ever seen. You can make an educated guess and say he didn't get out much.

She was there that day, sitting on one of the swings, gently moving back and forth. She looked sad, he realized, which in turn saddened him. He got bold.

"Pretty girls shouldn't look sad." As soon as the words left his mouth he blushed crimson. She was a _girl. _Her head shot up, startled by the interruption of silence.

"Hi."

It was the first time he'd ever heard her speak. She had the most beautiful voice he'd ever heard, and as cliche as it sounded, her voice reminded him of silk and honey. Smooth.

"I'm Tim."

She nodded. _Smooth McGee, you've freaked her out_, a voice in his head smirked.

She wouldn't stop looking at him, those green eyes never leaving his face, studying him like she'd discovered a new species. He couldn't stop blushing, and he felt really warm and tingly.

"You're really smart, aren't you?" The seriousness of the question shocked him. God, he wished he wasn't such a geek, and he wished even more that it wasn't _that _obvious.

"Yeah...I guess so...uh.." He stuttered. How do you answer a question like that without sounding like a total douche?

"Could you help me with math this school year? I'm not very good and I've been home schooled and-"

"Sure!" Tim then wanted very much to slap himself on the head. Did he have to sound so _excited?_

"Thanks." She said, smiling, making his heart skip a few beats.

"No problem."

They sat in silence for a few minutes until a woman's voice started calling the girl from the end of the street.

She got up to leave but then paused in front of Tim.

"You don't even know my name, do you?" He shook his head, feeling yet another blush coming on.

"Well, I'm Lilly. It's very nice to meet you."

Lilly held up her hand and McGee took it, shocked again at the formal action. Her skin was so soft.

"Anyway, see you tomorrow!" She whispered in his ear as she leaned down and _kissed his cheek._

And just like that, Timothy McGee fell in love.

That year, and the year after that, were some of the best years and moments of McGee's life. She really was everything he'd ever wished for.

She was smart, and funny, and always knew the right thing to say in order to make him not feel awkward. Lilly made him relax.

She hated math but loved art and literature, and loved to write, like he did. She was the only one who ever got to read his poetry. They were best friends, essentially.

They believed nothing would ever change. She made him take chances and he made her think about decisions. It was the perfect match.

Tim asked Lilly to the winter dance. And Lilly asked Tim to meet her dad when he got back from Iraq. Everything was perfect. Their parents often worried them spending so much time together wasn't good, but in all honesty, they could've cared less.

It was his sophomore year in high school that things began to change. Drastically. Tim had gym the same period Lilly had gym, it was just split into groups. This uncharacteristically hot September day they ended up in different groups.

The assignment was to run around the school track four times, and Lilly did do that, just before she collapsed onto the green earth beneath her feet.

Tim had never been so scared in his life. She would not wake up.

He carried her into the school nurse as an ambulance was called and teachers huddled around the unconscious student. Tim had never noticed just how pale she looked. Shirts were pulled up to check vitals and that's when they were discovered.

The bruises.

He'd never seen them before. They blotted her skin in random patterns, and the sight made McGee's stomach turn.

What happened to Lilly? What happened to the girl he spent almost every moment with? They'd..._you know._...less than a week ago. They were not there then.

Oh god, did he do this to her? Timothy McGee was sure he'd never forgive himself.

Soon paramedics arrived and he begged them to ride with her, which was allowed with disapproving looks. He did not care.

He was not allowed to see her for hours. Every second spent in the waiting room seemed like an eternity, mother and sister trying to stop his frantic pacing and just proved to stir up Tim more.

_What happened?_

Lilly's mother arrived shortly after her arrival, and since had just stared gaunt faced at the blank wall after the doctor had pulled her aside earlier. Lilly's mom would not tell Tim what was wrong with her.

Then, finally, after six long hours, some justice. He could see his Lilly.

It was then he learned the truth. The unforgivable, horrible truth that made him question a God, if there was one.

Lilly, his Lilly, had leukemia. She'd had it since she was three years old, when they'd thought they'd defeated it. It had come back with a vengeance and spread like wild fire.

She had less than a year.

This was the moment that Timothy McGee began to retreat. Back into the shy boy he was, back into the downright geek. He'd tried to remain normal at first, for her.

She cried and sobbed into his shoulder when they saw each other for the first time after he'd found out. She kept murmuring that she didn't want to die.

And yet she was still his Lilly. Treatment wasn't an option. She did not want to die like that. Comfort care was provided and she spent her last few months of life in absolute peace.

She wrote one hundred poems. She got her ears double pierced. And a tattoo, even though it was only one of those washable ones. It felt like a movie she'd seen.

She kissed her boyfriend as much as she could and never ever let go of his hand.

Lilly told McGee she loved him. The L-Word had been a foreign concept before, and now it was said in almost a prayer. As she slowly deteriorated, 'I love you,' meant everything.

A week before she died, she told him something that shocked him. She always had a way of shocking him.

"Tim , you have to move on." She whispered, words hoarse in the back of her throat.

"What?" Tim was seriously confused. What was she saying?

"Tim...I'm going to die." You could hear the tears in her voice now.

"I know." It came out a pained whisper.

"You...you have to promise me something."

"What? Anything. Whatever you need." The words he spoke were so desperate, Tim decided nothing she said he could refuse.

"You have to move on. Go to college. Become something great. You are the most wonderful person I've ever met and I love you and-" Her voice caught in her throat.

"Lilly-"

"Let me finish! I will not let you stop being great because of me. Write a book! Sail across the ocean, discover a constellation, I _don't know, _just be yourself. Promise me, Tim. Promise me."

"I promise."

She let out a breath and began to cough. The conversation was over.

She died holding his hand, and as it all faded to darkness and the beeping of the machines slowly faded, she whispered, 'I love you', to the only boy she ever would have that feeling towards.

Her life was too short.

And as her skin went cold, Timothy McGee kissed her forehead and brushed back a piece of blonde hair, whispering in a shaky voice,

"I love you too, more than you'll ever know."

* * *

Tony Dinozzo could not hold back the smile that graced his lips as he watched his girlfriend sleep, her lips mere inches from his own.

For the first time in his life, he was really quite content. The Bossman wasn't smacking his head, Ziva wasn't threatening to cut off his testicles, and there was no dog shit in his closet.

Life was good.

There was always the fact the 'girlfriend' he referred to was really an arms dealer's daughter and she knew him as Tony DiNardo, but he would not think about that now.

Jeanne Benoit was everything he'd ever hoped for in a woman. She was smart and talented and...unbelievably sexy.

He loved that her nose would crinkle slightly when she was suprised and her mouth would open slightly if she was taken aback. It was cute. He loved that she was soft and elegant and sweet and...damn, he sounded like a lovesick baboon.

The content silence of her house was broken suddenly by the sound of his cell phone ringing in a shrill annoying way that reminded him that he needed to change his ring tone.

It was 'Mom.'

Jeanne stirred in her sleep. He was quick to answer it.

"Yes?"

He realized too late that his voice sounded like an eighty year old chain smokers'.

"Tony? Are you okay?"

Jenny's voice came, concerned, through the too loud speaker.

"Who is that?" Jeanne asked sleepily. Shit.

"My mother."

That woke Jeanne up.

"Tony, you said your mother died when you were a child."

Her eyes grow suspicious and you can tell you are in seriously deep if you don't think of an excuse _now._

"She did. This is my mother's best friend, who's acted like a mom to me since as far back as I can remember."

Jeanne looked like she ate a canary.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Tony," She whispered guiltily.

"No problem."

Turning his attention back to the phone,

"What?"

Jenny seemed a bit upset.

"I was hoping you could come into work...Jethro needs his senior field agent."

"That's fine. I'll be there in a little while." Tony didn't say goodbye.

Immediately Jeanne was apologizing.

"I really am sorry, I just thought...well, it doesn't matter what I thought now, but I shouldn't have picked at you like that."

Damn she was really regretful. Tony felt a wave of guilt as he realized she was apologizing to _him _when he was to one lying about everything.

"Hey, hey, don't worry about it," he whispered as he stroked a thumb over her cheek and caressed her face. He gave her a soft peck on the lips.

"Promise me one thing, though."

She looked at him wearily.

"What?" Jeanne asked, voice full of suspicion.

"Never say your sorry to _me, _ever again. Okay?"

He squeezed her hand. She raised her eyebrows but nodded seriously.

"Alright then."

She smiled and kissed him again.

* * *

Jenny did not want to be alone tonight. With each tick of the clock the bottle of bourbon became much less full and her head became fuzzy. It was all her damn fault.

The study was warm and comforting to most, but to her it housed her most untouchable daemons.

She wanted companionship right now. She wanted someone to hold her and tell her it was okay.

She wanted her Jethro. But he was not _her _Jethro anymore, she relented.

He was Hollis Mann's Jethro. She really hated that woman.

A knock at the door both drew her from her thoughts and started new ones. Who would be here at _this _hour?

Just as she got up to open the door, she heard it creak on its own, and she realized with both dread and glee just who had decided to make a pit stop at her home.

"What are you doing here, Jethro?" She tried to make her voice strong, but even she could hear the slight slur of her words.

Damn Bourbon.

"Does a guy need a reason to catch up with his old partner?"

She saw him then, in the doorway of the study, leaning up against it casually. Silver hair slightly tousled, blue eyes shining in the light of the fire.

_God, he was sexy_. Jenny's eyes widened a bit at her brazen thoughts. She couldn't hold her liquor anymore, she decided. Just getting too old.

Jethro heard her sigh.

"What?", he asked, confused.

"Nothing," Jenny shot back, slightly defensive. He scoffed.

"_What?_" She cried in an annoyed shrill.

"Nothing," He mocked in a mentally retarded tone.

"Very mature, Jethro."

She laughed. It was the first time she'd laughed all day, she realized. He was the one that did it too. Jethro was a lot like _him _in that sense...

She hated anniversaries almost as much as Jethro hated them.

"I know what today is Jenny."

_Why does Jethro always have to be so serious and frank?_, she wondered.

"Sunday?" It was an attempt at a joke. A lame one.

"You know you don't have to do it alone."

His voice was low, and lilting in the strangest way to her. It made her feel comforted. She didn't need his comfort.

"Go back to Hollis, Jethro. I'm sure the love of your life would be upset to learn you were at my house at such an ungodly hour." She said the words bitterly, Jenny knew.

She just wanted him gone so she could get shit faced in peace.

"I don't love Hollis." It was a blatant statement. And in a moment she realized he was dead serious. It made her want to cry.

"Don't break her heart, Jethro. She doesn't deserve-"

"We're not talking about Hollis, Jen." He cut her off, frustratingly.

"What the hell do you want from me?" She screamed it hysterically, hands thrown up in the air.

"I want to know who your father was."

Silence could freeze fire.

"Get out of my house." Jenny spat the words venomously, emerald orbs flashing with hurt and anger and denial. She crossed her arms.

She would not discuss this with him.

"No. Who was he?"

Jethro took a step towards her, blue eyes concerned but stubborn and oh so defiant.

"A bastard, like you. Get out." Hurt flashed in his eyes, and she immediately regretted the words.

"He was a man who committed suicide, Jethro, that's all."

She whispered the words, trying hard to block out any mental pictures that came with them.

"Yeah? I don't think he did, Jenny. And I doubt you do either." Her head shot up, fury crossing her features.

"How dare you tell me what _my _thoughts are. You didn't know him." She seethed.

"But you did. Do you think he could've committed suicide?"

At that point it was not about choice for Jennifer Shepard. She was reaching her limit and with a mixture of everything else...

"No! He promised me..."

Jenny started to cry. She was drunk and emotional and tired and she started to bawl. She did not care that Jethro was right there. He had seen her cry before.

She was suprised to find him wrapping his arms around her, however, and even more shocked at the soothing murmurs he whispered in her ear.

"He promised me he'd never leave me."

It was a said with a hiccup and she realized just how pathetic she must look.

"I'm sorry, Jenny." He murmured in her red curls

"Don't say you're sorry," She cried out, hysterical at the fact he was breaking his own rules. She must be really, really, drunk to be hallucinating.

"I mean it."

The words were so sincere and meaningful that she calmed down a bit.

"I am such a mess." Jenny whispered once she came to her senses.

"No, you're just a woman who shouldn't be so strong all the time. Let other people be strong for you for a change."

He held her the rest of the night, moving to the couch in the living room after he tucked her into her own bed after she'd fallen fast asleep. When she awoke in the morning he was gone.

He kept his promise, though, in the end.

Jethro Gibbs never, ever, fell in love again after he met Jenny Shepard.

* * *

History has a way of repeating itself.

Ziva David loved Paris. She had loved it since she'd first come there on a mission a few years back.

The cars. The people. The sights. The shopping. The food. Tali would have loved it, she knew.

The Israeli woman had grown with time, her eyes had become softer and her heart more lenient. She began to find out that life was not only about her job. You had to find somebody to help you deal with the things it could throw at you.

And she believed Tony DiNozzo was that person.

Since the moment she met him, a conversation of phone sex and dead partners, she knew he was...different. Their relationship had grown with time.

Gibbs had left and they'd started a casual affair. Gibbs came back and Tony drifted away. Jeanne came into the picture and hearts were broken. Then Jenny died, she and they had bonded greatly over that, as twisted as it sounded. Michael came next. Somalia, Saleem, Caf-Pows.

It seemed as if as soon as they had the chance to really be together, something got in the way. It was frustrating.

Fate seemed set on screwing them.

So this would be different, she was determined to prove. Here, the atmosphere was clear, and even if it was for only one night Ziva would make it last.

Tony had gone to check them in at the hotel, finding only one room with a king sized bed available. She tried not to smile.

She plays along. Bickers with him over who will take the bed and who will take the couch. She says they should decide later, she'd famished.

He has reservations for a restaurant in the city. She feels...what would they call it? Gippy.

She wears the best thing she brought, for once throwing caution to the wind on what is appropriate and what's not for 'on the job.' She feels like Jenny would be proud.

They talk a lot that night. About the past. About regrets and mistakes and serious wishes for the future. They have some champagne. She laughs as Tony makes derogatory jokes about the gay French waiter. She steals his food when he's not looking. And he feeds her desert.

They were a bit tipsy at the time...but that doesn't matter. It's the action that counts.

They walk back to the hotel, hand in hand, gazing up at the Eiffel tower glowing in the dark array of the moonlit city. The sight is positively gratifying.

He stands just inside the door before she pushes him up against it and kisses him hungrily. She has waited for years to do this. Literally.

Caution is once again thrown to the wind as clothes are shed and they make sweet love as the sun rises, falling asleep in each other's arms as a new day begins. Tomorrow jobs await them, but now they are only Tony and Ziva.

Just like ten years ago it was Jenny and Jethro.

But this time they will change the cycle a bit. She will never leave him, and the feeling is mutual.

All is well and these new promises they have made shall never be broken.

* * *

Tim McGee and Abby Scutio are the only two people who kept their promises.

And they kept those promises together.

Abby never drove drunk again and Tim McGee found Abby Scutio.

She was there for him. She was there for each one of his book signing's and he proposed to her in the crisp beauty of autumn. Abby got counseling. And Tim would always remember Lilly.

In fact, no one ever forgot Lilly.

Lilly was the warmth in Jenny's pillow each night she missed Jethro. Lilly was the wood of each boat Leroy Jethro Gibbs spent so much time sanding down. She was in the memory of Tali's sweet innocence, the tape that was strewn across Tony's broken heart, and the strength Abby possessed in order to become independent of her daemons.

Lilly was every promise, kept and broken, with words or with actions, pinky's, letters, or hugs and kisses.

Lilly would forever be in Tim McGee's heart, as I hope she will always be in yours. Because even though life gets hard sometimes, live it to the fullest.

Kiss somebody in the rain. Tell them you love them just because. And if you really do, and haven't told them, say it double the times. Never say never to something you wish you had the strength to do. Forgive even if you wish didn't have to. Regret nothing.

Remember that everything is temporary, and that things change every moment. So notice it all. Memorize it all. Life is too short.

If someone hurts you now know that they are only a little bity piece in a huge masterpiece of a puzzle as grand as your life. Just because they don't fit now doesn't mean the world has ended. You just have to pick up another piece that's not so stubborn.

Life goes on even when it seems impossible. And keep promises, no matter how big or small.

And years later, a little girl with springy blonde curls and big blue eyes will bound down the stairs of the McGee household.

"_Lilly! We're going to be late for work!"_

"_I'm coming Mommy!"_


End file.
